


Only In Our Dreams

by caitiespace



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-03-31 07:12:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3969087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caitiespace/pseuds/caitiespace
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In a world post-Ultron, Tony finds himself lost. He's lost the Avengers, lost the public's opinion, and he might be a bit unsure about it, but he might be losing Pepper, too.<br/>So when Loki starts to visit him in his dreams, it's a bit of a relief to spend time with the only person who stuffed up their life more than he has. Even if that person is dead (supposedly).<br/>What Tony doesn't know is that it is actually Loki who inhabits his dreams, much for the same reason. His life on Asgard pretending to be the All-Father doesn't suit him as much as he thought it would, and he finds himself in search of validation. Even if it does come hiding in the subconscious of the one man that ever managed to best him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

There is a young boy – all dark hair, pale skin and cheekbones – standing in front of a mirror. His green eyes stand out from the pallor of his skin. He watches them carefully as he lifts a hand to cover one eye.  
He wonders if this makes him look different. If it makes him look more like him. But he is still of lithe frame, too many angles caught under a single skin.  
“Loki, my son. What are you doing?”  
The boy spins around to face a woman – his mother. She has warm brown curls and an equally warm smile. She saunters over to where he stands in front of the mirror, and places a comforting hand on his shoulder.  
He turns back towards the mirror.  
“Mother, why do I not look like the All-Father?” he asks.  
She squeezes his shoulder tightly.  
“Because you have more than one parent to take after,” she explained.  
“But Thor looks so like him,” he said.  
“And in that resemblance, does he fail to look like me?” she asked, looking down at her son. “Loki, we do not get to choose who we do or do not look like. I am glad that you look as you do. I would hate for you to define yourself solely by what physical traits you possess.”  
She spins him to face her.  
“Do you know what I see when I look at you?”  
He shakes his head.  
“I see a beautiful, intelligent and insightful young man,” she said. “I see your wicked humour. I see your thoughtfulness and quiet contemplation. I see your heart, Loki, and it is a wonderful thing. You are my son and I love you. I would not change how you are for the world. We already have one All-Father. We are not in need of another.”  
Loki threw his arms around Frigga’s neck and hugged her.  
“I love you, mother,” he said into her shoulder, trying to disguise his tears.  
“I love you too, Loki,” she said. “And do not ever forget that.”

Two thousand years may have passes, but Loki never forgot that day, standing in front of the mirror with his mother. He stood there again now, looking at his reflection, but it was not his face that looked back.  
He looked so much like the man he had once called his father, at that moment. He had his white hair, his worn skin… He even had his scar that was concealed by his eyepatch. It was like a childhood dream come true. But somehow wearing his father’s skin felt hollow.  
His entire life, he had idolised his father – this mountain of a man, literally the stuff of legend. He had wanted so badly to be deserving of the title of being his son. But no matter what he did – no matter how clever or gifted he was – he always felt like he was less than his brother. When he discovered the truth of his parentage, it suddenly became clear that his childhood fears were true. He had never been the All-Father’s son. He would never be worthy, as Thor was.  
Not if he remained as he was.  
When Loki had returned from the Dark World, dressed as an Aesir soldier, to announce his death to Asgard, he had been surprised by the effect this news had on the All-Father. He had watched as his father’s face crumpled, even as he tried to conceal his emotions from a supposed foot soldier. Odin had attempted to dispatch him, but he didn’t move. He just watched as Odin lifted a hand to place over his heart, his one good eye squeezing shut as a tear escaped from it.  
“Oh, Loki,” he had whispered. “First your mother, now you. It seems that death is truly my legacy after all.”  
Loki had watched as Odin’s hand slowly slipped from his chest, coming to rest at his side. It was there it had stayed.  
“…All-Father?” Loki had eventually asked, when Odin remained still. “Sire?”  
There was no response.  
“Father,” he said, walking up to the throne to shake his shoulder.  
Odin just sat there, his chest slowly continuing to rise and fall.  
Loki froze – the All-Father had entered the Odin Sleep. It seemed that the stress of his loss had been too much for him.  
Loki looked at his father – completely helpless, much like he had been the last time the Sleep had taken him – and knew that the time was now. A knife appeared in his hand – one of his favourite blades, spelled for accuracy and sharpness – and he grasped it tight. He lifted it and stilled, while he looked down at the man who had once pretended to be his father.  
He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill the All-Father.  
He was mildly surprised by that thought. Ever since he had discovered the truth of his heritage, and had been punished for trying to prove his worth to Odin, Loki had believed that Odin had deserved death. But now that the opportunity had arisen, he couldn’t do it. He remembered his mother – now gone – and remembered her telling him that she loved him. She had loved Odin, too. Even though he no longer respected the All-Father, his mother’s love still meant the world to him. He would respect that love, even if she had carried it with her to Valhalla.  
Loki found himself hatching a plan then. He sealed the All-Father away, to continue his Odin Sleep. He spelled his resting place, to ensure that he would never wake. He had created a glamour in his image, made up with all those details that you only noticed after living with someone for a thousand years, and had draped himself in it. Even his brother was unable to tell he wasn’t the real thing.  
It had all gone so well. He had taken his place as the King of Asgard. He had banished his brother to Midgard, under the guise of spending time with his mortal love. He began to rebuild Asgard following the Dark Elves’ attack in his own image. His own kingdom, filled with subjects who adored and worshipped him. It was everything he had ever dreamed of.  
Which was why Loki wondered why he felt so miserable when he looked at himself in the mirror.

A million miles and a realm away, Tony Stark also found himself displeased with his reflection in the mirror. But unlike Loki, he was not having some existential crises. It was because he had just damaged his goatee with his razor.  
That’s right. His precious facial hair – his trademark and the subject of innumerate blogs on Tumblr – now had a big slash right through it. All because Tony decided to have a go at trimming it while decidedly more than a little bit hungover.  
Fangirls the world over just started to cry. Tony wasn’t entirely sure that he wouldn’t join them.  
Tony was tempted to try and fix it. Let’s face it, Tony loved tinkering, but even he realised that his face was not the place to be doing it. Knowing him, he would just make a mess out of it, and end up with no beard at all. So he left the bathroom, planning on calling his stylist with a code red at some point, and headed down to his kitchen.  
Their kitchen, Tony reminded himself, as he walked in and saw Pepper sitting at the kitchen bench, spooning oatmeal or quinoa or whatever superfood she was hooked on this week into her mouth. A wheatgrass smoothie sat forgotten, as she read something on her tablet. Tony felt himself grimacing. He had gone off all food with the colour green after the chlorophyll diet he had to endure to counteract his palladium poisoning. Not that he thought he’d ever be a fan of wheatgrass, anyway.  
Tony gave Pepper a kiss on the cheek, as he walked over to the coffee machine to make himself his first double espresso of the day. Tony didn’t do breakfast, but he definitely did caffeine. Lots and lots of caffeine.  
“So, love of my life,” he said, sipping on his coffee as Pepper rolled her eyes at him. “What’s the plans for today?”  
“Well, I’m going to work,” she said. “You know, to run that multi-billion-dollar business that I own? You just get to stay here and do whatever it is that you do now that you’ve retired.”  
Tony made a face.  
“I have not retired,” he said. “I am just not otherwise gainfully employed at the moment and living off my copious amounts of money I earned while I was working.”  
“That sounds kind of like retirement, Tony,” she said.  
“Stop calling it retirement,” he said. “You’re making me feel old. No – “ he said, lifting a finger when she was about to say something. “Don’t you forget, Miss Potts, that I know exactly how old you are, so don’t start a pot-calling-the-kettle-grey competition, cause I will ruin you.”  
Pepper couldn’t help but smile.  
“Yes, Tony.”  
“Well,” Tony said, tracing some shapes on the bench with a finger, “Seeming you brought up retirement, then aren’t we meant to act like retirees and go on a holiday or something?”  
“What?” she asked, incredulous. “You mean you want to get a caravan or something and go on a road trip?”  
“No. Don’t be stupid. I was more thinking along the lines of an extended stay in Bora Bora. You, me, beach, mojitos… Notice that I left clothes off that list.”  
“As lovely as that sounds, I have a business to run,” she said, standing while she slid her tablet into her bag. “You probably remember it. I mean, it kinda used to be yours.”  
“Then how about I come with?” he said. “The prodigal son, returned.”  
“Oh, no,” she said. “Not a chance, Tony.”  
“Why not?”  
“Because I don’t want to think what our stocks would look like if you did that,” she said. “Remember, you did just release a horde of genocidal robots onto the planet. There’s a huge hole in Eastern Europe to remind us of it.”  
“Jeesh, it was just one time,” Tony said. “Besides, I fixed it.”  
“The world sees it as the Avengers fixing it. And you’re no longer an Avenger,” she pointed out.  
“So…what? One mistake and I’m stuck in exile forever?” Tony asks.  
“Not forever,” Pepper promised. “Just however long it takes for the world to forget about it. So how about you just stay here and enjoy the time off. Read a book. Watch a movie. Take up knitting. Something. Just stay away from my company, okay?”  
She walked over to Tony, and pressed a quick kiss to his lips.  
“I’ll see you when I get home,” she promised.  
“Fine,” he said, folding his arms across his chest. “And when will that be?”  
“When the work is done,” she said.  
She threw him a wave as she walked out the door.  
Tony sighed, and leaned back onto his bench, and uncomfortable knot settling in his stomach. He wished Pepper hadn’t brought up Ultron. Then again, it seemed that was all people brought up with him these days.  
It had been three months since the Avengers had put Ultron down, and just days since Tony gave his final goodbye to the group. It remained a fresh wound that continued to ache. Ultron had been his great dream – his shield around the world – and in his rush to get the job done, he had borrowed technology he didn’t understand, and it got away from him. In the process, hundreds of people had died – more to add to his tally that he had accrued as the merchant of death.  
What people seemed to forget was that he was not the only one who had worked on the Ultron project. Bruce had been there the entire way, helping him, too. But with Bruce, everyone only ever saw the good in him. The gentle scientist that only occasionally got possessed by a monster. What everyone seemed to forget was how Bruce got his monster in the first place – testing untried procedures on himself, long before they were ready for human trials. He had a history of recklessness, and yet it was Tony that got shouldered with the blame for it.  
The problem was that unlike Bruce, Tony was not apologetic for it. He was never apologetic for anything. Apologies never benefited anyone. They were just excuses that prevented you from dealing with the problem at hand. Science was not black and white, and Tony had lived his life in the grey. His life was just a collection of trial and error. Some things worked, some things didn’t. And when they really went wrong – like they did with Ultron – he didn’t apologise for it, he went and fixed it.  
And now Tony was suffering for it. A pariah in his own home, all because he dared to risk it all on a dream that was meant to help everybody.  
Tony sighed, as he swallowed the final dregs of his coffee. It was probably time that he called his stylist.


	2. Chapter 2

Tony looked at the takeaway sitting unclaimed on the table, and sighed.  
“Friday,” he called. “What time is it?”  
“It is nearly midnight, Sir,” she replied.  
“Thanks.”  
The corner of Tony’s mouth pulled, as he got up and started to pack away the Chinese he had ordered. It looked like Pepper wasn’t getting home for in time for dinner, after all. Again.  
Tony tried to tell himself it was nothing – that Pepper was just caught up with work, and that was why she hadn’t made it home again. But that little voice in the back of his head felt the need to point out that this was becoming a pattern, and that pattern had only started after Ultron.  
Pepper had tried to be understanding after the whole Ultron incident. After all, his creation had been on accident. Hell, it shouldn’t have even been possible. Pepper knew Tony had never planned on it happening, and that he had done his damnedest to right things. But Tony still felt like she looked at him differently after it happened. She had gone from being awed by his brilliance, to wary of the potential time bomb she shared her bed with. Tony and his inventions had the potential to be dangerous, even when his intentions were noble. No one could ignore that, no matter how in love they were. Not even Tony could ignore that about himself.  
Maybe that was why Tony went and curled up in his cold and empty bed, rather than heading down to his lab. Tony had always spent his quiet hours, occupying his mind with building things. It was the only thing that ever quieted the rush of thoughts that filled his head. Since Ultron, he found that he couldn’t trust his own hands, frightened that the next project he worked out would get out of his control as well. Instead, he hid in his bed, scrunching his eyes shut while he attempted to will himself into slumber that never came as easily as he hoped.  
It was a few hours later when Tony heard a door open and close. Pepper was finally home. He listened to the tapping of her heels against the tiled floor, and waited for her to join him. His stomach tightened as he heard the door to the guest room open and shut. It looked like he was spending another night alone.  
But she was home. Tony held onto that thought. No matter where their relationship stood at the moment, surely the fact that she still came home meant that she was willing to try and work through things. Tony felt his body relax at that promise - the promise of hope – and he finally drifted off to sleep.

Loki had always been a dream walker. It was a useful skill to have, and one that he had employed on numerous occasions to his benefit. Most of the time that he trespassed into the dreams of others, it was to serve a specific purpose. To subconsciously alter a person’s behaviour, plant seeds of doubt into someone’s mind, to discover hidden truths, or simple to inspire fear in his power. Never had he just wandered aimlessly through the minds of others. At least, not until recently.  
Loki did not know why, since claiming his father’s crown, that he found himself dream walking once more. It served no particular purpose. He just meandered through people’s dreams, watching them silently from the sidelines. A spectator to the internal machinations of his host’s subconscious.  
He had already danced his way through the minds of Lady Sif and the Warriors Three. There was nothing in those dreams that had grabbed his attention – although Fandral’s nightmare about going bald and fat was rather humorous. He had then found himself visiting the dreams of those he met on Midgard. He had already visited the troubled dreams of Dr Bruce Banner, and the memories that filled those of Captain America. He had tried to visit the Black Widow, but it turned out that the Avenger’s resident assassin did not dream at all. Probably a good thing, given what he knew of her history. He did avoid the dreams of Agent Barton, though. He had already spent enough time uninvited within his head. It was one of the few things in life that Loki actually felt guilty about. He would not disregard his privacy anymore just for his own amusement.  
If it occurred to Loki that he was visiting the people closest to Thor, he was choosing to ignore it. His feelings regarding the man he had thought to be his brother were conflicted at best. He always did his best to try not to investigate those too closely, in spite of how they might nag at him.  
Tonight Loki found himself visiting the dreams of Tony Stark. The dreamscape he found himself stumbling upon was one he did not expect. He found himself walking among the ruins of a city. Apartment blocks with worn facades spread out like a maze, crumbling and broken in some unspoken calamity. Fallen walls and forgotten bodies littered the streets, as an unnatural wind howled a song that almost sounded like a cry.  
Loki followed the path of destruction to the centre of town, where there stood a church. It was in this church that Loki finally found his Man of Iron.  
Tony Stark stood there in his suit – a different suit to the one that had caught him, when Loki had defenestrated him that one time in New York, but similar in its gold and red hues. Only his face was spared from its protective embrace, as he looked solemnly at something in the centre of the temple.  
“You might as well come out, you know,” he said. “I know you’re there.”  
He wondered who Iron Man was talking to, because surely, it couldn’t be him. Loki was a skilled dream walker. He was only ever seen when he wanted it to be so. He watched as Tony Stark turned around and looked him very deliberately in the eyes, and winked.  
“Boo.”  
Loki froze.  
“What’s up, Reindeer Games?” Tony said. “Long time, no see.”  
“You can see me?” he asked.  
“Of course, I can see you. It’s my dream, after all,” he said. “Not much point you being here, otherwise. Although why the Hell my subconscious decided to conjure Thor’s dead brother is beyond me. Now this – “ he said, gesturing to the wasteland around them as he walked towards Loki. “This I understand. This is the home of you-done-fucked-up-royal. But you?”  
Tony leant in to scrutinise Loki’s features. This close, Loki could smell the undertones of his cologne and engine lubricant.   
“Maybe you’re like, meant to be a metaphor for my life? You know, brilliant, talented, makes one bad decision then everyone hates you and you die.” Tony leaned back and rubbed his chin. “Although if that was the case, then my mind is a lot more screwed up than I gave it credit for.”  
“By the Norns, what are you going on about?” Loki snapped.  
“You. Me. The point of all this.” Tony gesticulated to their surroundings. “Normally my dreams have some kind of internal consistency. You know, I turn up to a meeting with no pants on. I turn up to a meeting with no pants on which results in sexy consequences. Just sexy consequences in general. Either that or it’s some flashback to some point where I fucked up in my life or nearly got myself killed. You turning up in a guilt dream about Ultron makes no sense. Especially seeming you’re doing nothing other than standing there confused about being here. It’s like even my subconscious can’t work out why you’re here.”  
Something occurred to Loki just then, something that he hadn’t considered up til now. Tony Stark was a lucid dreamer. He swore silently to himself. It was just his luck to get caught in a dream with someone who could actually talk back. It would do him no good for Tony Stark to work out that Loki wasn’t actually a figment of his imagination. Not when it would risk him telling his brother about his continued existence. He would have to play along.  
“So what, pray tell, should I be doing at this point in a dream?” Loki asked, folding his arms across his chest.  
“Well, by now you should have either tried to kill me, or we should be getting up to some sexy consequences…” he said, lifting an eyebrow.  
Loki looked down at himself, and found himself inexplicably wearing a maid’s outfit. He looked up at Tony, eyes wide.  
“Well, it is my dream, baby,” he said.  
“No,” Loki said, taking a step back. “Not even in your dreams, Man of Iron.”  
And he disappeared.  
Tony sighed, turning back towards the temple.  
“Oh, well. I guess back to the guilt trip we go. Okay, Ultron. Come out, come out, wherever you are…”


	3. Chapter 3

The scene inside Jane Foster’s house that Thanksgiving could have been seen in any house across the country that night. A bunch of friends, brought together around a table filled with food and love. Darcy and her intern sat on one side of the table, as she fed Ian pieces of crust that she had pulled from the pumpkin pie. Dr Erik Selvig tried his best to carve the bird, only getting mildly frustrated when it came away in chunks rather than slices. It had that all-American feel to it – almost like a Hallmark card. The only thing that didn’t fit was the Norse God that sat surprisingly silently next to Jane.  
Thor had been uncharacteristically quiet that evening. He just sat there, watching her with a rapt awe, instead of being his usual ‘grab-assy’ (to steal a term coined by Darcy) self. Every now and then he would look nervously around the table, his eyes occasionally catching those of Dr Selvig, before his attention once more returned to Jane. Jane had put his silence down to him wanting to observe his first Thanksgiving. It was the first holiday she and Thor had shared since he had settled on Earth permanently, and the first group gathering they had had since the events in Sokovia. It only made sense that he was trying to soak as much of it up as possible.  
Food was served, and a meal was had. They had talked and laughed, sharing stories about their adventures and experiences, old and new. The only uncomfortable moment came when Darcy tried to bring up Ultron, but Erik silenced her effectively with one of his slightly-mad-looking ice blue gazes. Eventually Darcy and Ian headed to the lounge, so she could introduce him to what American’s called football, leaving just Thor, Jane and Erik at the table.  
“… think I’ll start cleaning up the dishes,” Erik said, standing up and carrying the carving tray towards Jane’s kitchen.  
Jane got up to help, but Thor reached out and grabbed her arm.  
“No – wait,” he said, standing slightly as he led her back to her seat. “Sit.”  
“O-kay,” she said, lifting an eyebrow to look at him.  
“Jane,” he said. “There has been certain topics that I have wanted to have words with you about for some time now. Something that I wanted to address properly. Although I am still learning certain Midgardian customs, and some requirements have been harder to achieve than others. I mean, what with I not knowing your family, I have not been able to seek their consent, but Erik has been as a father to you, so we have had words and he approves…”  
“Thor… Slow down,” Jane said, placing an arm on a very firm bicep to calm him. “What are we talking about?”  
“I have even… Well, the Lady Pepper has been some help in acquiring what I need. I am told that it is custom…”  
Jane watched as Thor reached into the breast pocket of his oxblood jacket to retrieve something.  
“Oh my God…”  
“Jane Foster. Will you do me the honour…”  
“…Is that an Einstein Rosen bridge?”  
“What?”  
Thor’s hand slammed down on the table, leaving the small ominous box there momentarily forgotten as he stood to face the window Jane looked out of. Sure enough, there was a person in Jane’s backyard who stood within a familiar scorched pattern, the smell of ozone seeping through the window.  
How Thor had missed the ominous boom and flash of light that accompanied the use of the bifrost was another thing entirely. No one else in the house had missed it, with Darcy, Ian and Erik coming to investigate.  
“Ooh, is it another Asgardian hottie?” Darcy asked, craning her neck to get a better view out the window.  
“Stay back, Darcy,” Thor said, extending an arm back in warning as he walked towards the door. “Not all those who come to visit are necessarily friends of mine.”  
Thor seemed to grow in height as he went and retrieved Mjolnir from the hallstand. He turned to face his friends.  
“You are all to stay here,” he said – no question or request in his voice. “I shall find out what our visitor wants.”  
“And what if that doesn’t go well?” Jane asked, reaching out to place a hand on Thor’s arm.  
Thor turned his blue eyes on Jane.  
“Then you shall run,” he said.  
Jane just nodded, taking a step back.  
Thor exited Jane’s house, Mjolnir firmly grasped in his hand. Their guest was still crouched on the ground where they landed, little more than a silhouette to Thor’s eyes.  
The stranger slowly stood up, revealing a shape Thor hadn’t expected to see. Yes, they wore a warrior’s physique – armour-bound with a sword grasped by a muscular arm – but it was constrained to familiar feminine curves.  
“Sif?” Thor said, surprised.  
“Thor,” she greeted, clasping her sword to her chest as she bowed.  
“What in Odin’s name are you doing here?” he asked, walking closer.  
“It is funny you should mention your father, for it is he who I would speak with you about,” she said.  
“What of my father?” he asked, worried.  
Sif looked around them.  
“Is there somewhere more private where we could speak?” she asked.  
“There is no one here,” Thor replied. “Should we venture into Jane’s house, there would be company.”  
Thor chose to ignore how the corner of Sif’s mouth pulled tight at Jane’s name.  
“Come – sit,” he said, leading them to Jane’s outdoor setting.  
They both took a seat.  
“What is it you wish to speak about?” Thor asked.  
“I am concerned about the All-Father,” Sif said seriously. “He is not himself, of late.”  
“By what do you mean?”  
“Since Malekith’s attack, your father’s focus has been singular towards the rebuilding of Asgard,” she said.  
Thor nodded.  
“As it should.”  
“But he is not focusing his efforts where he should,” she explained. “Your father has made the security of Asgard his priority. He has called all the warriors home from across the nine realms – all except you,” she corrected. “He makes his builders focus on garrisons and walls. He forces his mages to work day and night to forge protective wards. The craftsmen have been forced to work on armour and weapons. It is like he is preparing for a war.”  
“Sif,” Thor said, resting a hand on hers to try and ease the tension he saw in her shoulders. “How are my father’s actions not appropriate? Asgard was attacked. Lives were lost – including those of my mother and brother. We were at war. My father just seeks to make sure that it never happens again. Who can fault him for that?”  
“But you have not seen him,” Sif insisted. “He does not speak. He spends hours locked away in his study. He refuses to see his advisors. He just makes demand after demand and expects them to be met.”  
“He is a king,” Thor said. “It is his right.”  
Sif made a frustrated noise, standing.  
“Why will you not see the truth in my words?” she asked.  
“I do,” Thor said. “And I am sure you believe them fervently. But my father is as you are – a warrior. He is just trying to keep his people safe.”  
“So you will not come to see for yourself?” she asked. “Are you so focused on playing house with your mortal?”  
“Do not bring Jane into this,” he warned. “This has naught to do with her. You have not brought me any such concern that would require my return to Asgard.”  
“None that you will see,” she spat. “I am sorry to have taken up your time.”  
She walked back to where the bifrost had been.  
“You know, Odinson, there was a day when my instincts meant something to you. Where you would invade nations based on an itch in the back of my mind. And invariably, I would be seen right,” she said. “I would question what has changed between us that my opinion would mean nought to you, but I think we both know why that is.”  
Thor remained silent.  
Sif looked up at the sky.  
“Heimdall!” she shouted. “Open the bifrost!”  
There was a crash of light and sound, and then Lady Sif was gone, leaving Thor alone in Jane’s yard in New Mexico.


End file.
